


Let's Hear That String Part Again, Because I Don't Think They Heard It All the Way Out in Hampstead

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Teasing, completely plotless, senseless abuse of a violin, there isn't even any hint of a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He rolled over, groaned, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Sherlock!" he called out. "Shut the fuck up, or else."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Or else what?" Sherlock paused briefly in his aural assault to question John, his imperious voice floating down the hallway. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Or else I'll give you something to make noise about," John retaliated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A matter of seconds later, he heard the clatter of instrument and bow being placed indelicately on the coffee table, and the quick patter of feet across the flat. Sherlock draped himself against the doorframe and grinned at John. "Threat, or promise?"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Hear That String Part Again, Because I Don't Think They Heard It All the Way Out in Hampstead

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based on a Sufjan Stevens song, for no particular reason. Just because we could. So we did.

John eased one eye open, checking the time on the clock by his side of the bed. Just gone half past four, which for most people, would not really be their favourite time of day to be woken by the sounds of a poor, defenseless violin being quite abused. 

 

He rolled over, groaned, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Sherlock!" he called out. "Shut the fuck up, or else!"

 

"Or else what?" Sherlock paused briefly in his aural assault to question John, his imperious voice floating down the hallway. 

 

"Or else I'll _give_ you something to make noise about," John retaliated. 

 

A matter of seconds later, he heard the clatter of instrument and bow being placed indelicately on the coffee table, and the quick patter of feet across the flat. Sherlock draped himself against the doorframe and grinned at John. "Threat, or promise?"

 

John rolled his eyes and threw back the covers on Sherlock's side of the bed. "Both. Get back in bed, you daft sod."

 

Shrugging his blue silk dressing gown off his shoulders, Sherlock climbed eagerly back into bed, scrambling across to straddle John's legs. "Mind my bits! All pissing knees and elbows, aren't you?" John grinned up at Sherlock once he was comfortably seated, his pale, thin thighs bracketing John's sturdier legs. 

 

"I've a vested interest in 'your bits'. I'll endeavour to be more watchful in my passions in future," Sherlock told him in his most serious, sincere voice as he walked his fingers across John's collarbone. 

 

"Believe it when I see it," John countered. He brought a hand up to smooth the curl that had fallen in Sherlock's eyes. 

 

Sherlock dipped his head to cover John's lips with his own. He curled one hand at the nape of John's neck, and moved the other downwards from John's collarbone to tease his nipple, switching between delicate touches and harsh pinches. As John gasped at the sensation, Sherlock eased the tip of his tongue against the join of his lips. John's hips kicked upwards slightly, canting towards the heavy pressure of Sherlock's thighs, his legs parting slightly, willing Sherlock to move faster.

 

Sherlock's fingers left John's nipple to run down his ribs and tease his fingertips into the rim of John pyjama bottoms. "Tut, tut, John. Impatience won't get you anywhere, you know."

 

"Shut it, yeah? And take your fucking clothes off." John punctuated his request with a tug on Sherlock's waistband, pinching what small amount of buttock he managed to free. A low rumble against his chest signalled Sherlock's amusement, and this time John smacked lightly at the flesh until Sherlock took his wrist sharply and pinned it under his knee.

 

"Watch it, John. Or I'll have to..."

 

"What?" John's gaze locked on Sherlock's and he grinned cockily. "What will you have to do?"

 

Sherlock bent his head low next to John's ear and nipped lightly at his jaw bone. "Put you in your place." 

 

He pulled back suddenly, flipping John on to his front and laughing at John's protest, muffled by the pillows he now found himself talking into. "What was that, dear?" Sherlock enquired casually, slipping his own t-shirt off and pulling John's pyjama bottoms down until they sat in a puddle at John's feet. John was still complaining noisily, but his legs shifted apart further, hips pushing up and back. "Oh just look at you, with your arse in the air. It really is most undignified."

 

John turned and appraised Sherlock over his shoulder. "Will you get the fuck on with it?"

 

"Ah, is this the 'romance' you've been trying to teach me so much about?"

 

John rolled first his eyes, then his hips, placing his forehead on his folded arms. Just as he drew breath to speak, Sherlock's long fingers tip-toed up his thigh, and over his hip bone, smoothing lightly into the dip of flesh there and round to tease the head of his cock lightly with his thumb.

 

Leaning over John's back, Sherlock spoke. "What do you want, then, John?" John groaned loudly in response.

 

"Mmph. Oh _Christ_ , Sherlock."

 

Sherlock pushed his own hips forward, his erection nudging at John's arse through the cotton of his pyjamas. "I _said_ , what do you want?" He moved his hand away from John's cock, pulling it back around to his arse. "How about this?" As he spoke, he nudged a finger inbetween John's buttocks and ran it lightly over his anus.

 

"Fu-fuck." John choked out. "Yes. Please, _yes_."

 

"Begging already, John? How _very_ pedestrian of you. But, I suppose, as you asked  _so_ nicely..." He took his hand away, yanking John up and placing his fingers to John's mouth. The only sound in the room for a moment was of strained breathing, until John took Sherlock's fingers into his mouth, humming around them and biting gently at the calloused tips as they slid out. He carefully pushed John forwards, returning his fingers to where they had been a minute before, and circled slowly with his index finger before pushing the very tip in slightly, then withdrew it again, fingertips flying softly over John's skin.

 

"Please. Sherlock, more.  _More._  You arsehole."

 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "More?" He returned his finger, pushing it in with no warning to the second knuckle.

 

"Ah!" Muscles clenched around his flesh and Sherlock crooked his finger up slightly, hovering lightly over, but not quite making contact with, John's prostate. John was rigid under him, every part of his body clenched. Waiting. Sherlock put his mouth to John's ear. "Relax. You want more, don't you, John? You'll have to relax." Sherlock's other hand rubbed circles onto John's belly, feeling muscles sag under his palm, feeling the stretch lessen around his finger. "You do as I say, don't you?"

 

"Don't -- fuck  _me --_ don't get used to it." John groaned again, pushing down and back, just as Sherlock started to slip his second digit in, so both fingers ended up all the way inside him; the stretch thrumming in time to the rush of blood in his ears and the constant metronome of  _moremoremore_  in his brain. Slowly, Sherlock scissored his fingers apart, feeling the solid muscle work ever so slowly looser and looser around his knuckles.

 

"God almighty, John, you'd think you'd never been fucked before."

 

"Not my fault that you're fucking celibate during your fucking cases, is it?" John huffed, as Sherlock worked his clever fingers. "Six fucking bastarding weeks." John paused to let out an appreciative moan at the way Sherlock had quickened his pace. "No fucking wonder, eh?"

 

Sherlock smirked at John, even though the other man had returned his face to the pillow beneath him. "I've half a mind to keep you like this for a while. Teach you not to be so impertinent."

 

John twisted his head to the side, his eyes closed, just so he could retort. "You never have half a mind about fucking _anything_ ," he said in a mumble. 

 

"I never have half a mind about fucking  _you,_ " Sherlock corrected, as he used his free hand to skim gently across John's back. "Can you come from just my fingers, do you think?"

 

John's initial response was to grind down harder on Sherlock's fingers, eliciting a gasp in unison from the both of them. "Game if you are," John said, craning his neck to meet the lust blown eyes behind him.

 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Have you ever known me  _not_ be game?"

 

John let out a chuckle. "Bring it, then." He pushed back again, pushing his hips first right, then left and back again before Sherlock's free hand pinned him in place.

 

"Don't think I don't know when you're cheating." He pushed John forwards once more, straight and flush to the mattress. "If you try anything like that again, I might be forced to..." He began to remove his fingers before John choked out a protest. "Okay, okay. Don't get your knickers in a twist, John." He slowed the retreat from John's anus and pushed back in, slowly, crooking his fingers to find John's prostate. He pushed the pad of his middle finger up against it, having to tip his forehead against John's back to stop himself from moaning aloud at the noise John made. It resonated around the room, cracking like a whip off the plastered walls and shattering the lightness they'd been skittering along on until now. Sherlock bit the dip in John's back just below his neck, tasting copper before sucking and leaning back slightly. "I'm going to make you scream, John."

 

John bit back a response and continued grinding backwards, waiting for Sherlock to hit his gland again. When he did, the breath gusted from John as though he were being squeezed hard around the middle. He didn't make a sound, instead opening and closing his mouth against his forearm; his eyes squeezed shut to block out pin pricks of light spotting in front of his vision. When he could hear against the roaring in his ears, it was to discover Sherlock speaking in a low voice.

 

"Christ, John, I'm going to come in my trousers just watching you. Do you want more? Tell me." John nodded his assent. Sherlock chided him, murmuring lowly. " _Tell me_."

 

"Yes. More. Sh-- oh God. _More_." Sherlock thought he might have said please, but it was swallowed in a choked gasp and the sound of John's clenched fist connecting with the head board. Sherlock leaned over John's back, towards the bedside table. He sat back on his heels a moment later, holding a bottle of lubricant which he opened with his teeth before squeezing over John's hole and his own hand. The cold made John's body clench satisfyingly around his fingers, causing his own erection to twitch against the confines of his trousers. Manouvering his hand, he carefully pushed the tip of his third finger up against John's anus, closing his eyes as he eventually felt the give and slipped in. "You're going to come soon. Is that what you want?"

 

John was, apparently, beyond all reasonable conversation and Sherlock couldn't help the loud exclamation of " _Fuck! " _at John's garbled response. Sherlock caught sight of John's hand snaking down the bed, instinctivly reaching to grasp at his own cock. With his free hand, Sherlock smacked John's arse. "Remember, no cheating."

 

John sobbed.

 

"You want to come, don't you, John? I expect your penis is possitively _aching_ with it by now?" John nodded, his hips aimlessly moving in any which direction, alternating beween searching for a source of friction, and pushing back onto Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock crooked his fingers inside John again, feeling the brush of John's prostate and scraping it slightly, all but feeling the nerves in John's body burn white hot for a split second. "Sit up. I want to see it, when it happens."

 

John tried to push his weight up, but slipped, the palms of his hands sweaty and useless against the bed sheets, so Sherlock pressed his front up against John's back, sliding his free arm under him and across his chest, lifting him up and back. The shift made John's weight press down onto Sherlock's fingers, burying them slightly deeper inside, eliciting another loud moan, this time into Sherlock's ear as John's head fell back. Sherlock's fingers were working a steady rhythm now; _in-out-up-down_ , brushing over John's prostate at regular intervals as he hardened the pace.

 

"Look at your cock. It's  magnificent , John," Sherlock noted, as he took in the sight of John's fully erect, straining penis. Pre-come was smeared over his belly, and Sherlock thought for a moment he may be forced to forego the experiment due to the strength of his desire to take John in his hand a  _twist-pull-stroke_ him to his completion.

 

Judging by John's breathing, he wouldn't need to. Breath stuttered unsurely against Sherlock's neck, stopping for moments at a time as John attempted to calm himself down, but one more press of Sherlock's fingers just  _there_  and John went rigid, clamping down on Sherlock's hand as his orgasm tore a trail through him. His shout was short and  perfunctory ; all his breath would allow. He ground down hard on the fingers inside him, mouth opening and closing uselessly as semen pulsed hard and fast from his cock, meeting with the sweat soaked skin of his chest. His arms were thrown back, circling Sherlock's neck as he tried to regain some semblence of function against the tidal wave in his chest.

 

Sherlock looked down at his hand, soaked with lube and sweat, fingers still inside John's twitching arsehole. He didn't even pull his trousers down before pushing his erection up against John's hip, one, two, three times and coming with a rough shout, muffled as he closed his mouth around John's shoulder. They both sagged, eventually, once Sherlock had removed his fingers from John, wrapping his legs around him and thrusting lazily now and again, against the aftershocks that travelled through his abdomen and cock.

 

Silence prevailed momentarily, before Sherlock took a breath and flopped onto his back. "And you say you don't like me playing my violin in the night. I knew you did,  _really. "_

 

John rolled his eyes at the ceiling and hit Sherlock square in the face with a pillow. "Git."


End file.
